


The Price of Responsibility

by SpaghettiCanActivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Swap, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Big Brother Sam, Gen, Little Brother Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-06 12:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16388180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaghettiCanActivist/pseuds/SpaghettiCanActivist
Summary: Dean had always been the little brother. Coddled by Sam, treated like a soldier by John, Dean leaves at 18. Four years later though, his past life comes knocking at the door. A story which focuses on the effect of an age swap on the dynamic of the Winchester brothers.





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

Dean stared up at his big brother, mischievous green eyes weighing that sad look on his brother's face. Samuel Winchester was sixteen and sprouting like a beanstalk. Dean was green with envy. Twelve years old and barely an inch below five feet while his dumb big brother was six foot.

Sam was mother henning at the moment, checking Dean's jacket and making sure that everything was zipped up and in place.

“You're gonna wear your mittens today,” Sam said, it wasn't a request.

Dean scowled.

“I look like a goddamn baby in them!” He protested.

Sam looked unimpressed by the statement and sent Dean a look that said so.

“Watch your language,” Sam reprimanded.

Dean stared to the side mulishly.

“'Dad doesn't make me wear them.”

Dean's little half mumble was a cruel shot at his brother, one he didn't quite understand at that age.

Sam froze, fingers clenching at the jacket fabric and making Dean regret, if just from fear, his little comment. Sam would never hurt him of course, in fact his older brother had an issue with coddling. But an angry Sam Winchester was never a pretty sight.

“Well, I'm not dad and I care whether or not you get frostbite.”

It was hyperbole of course, the most Dean would come home with was red, chapped hands which the kid never even cared to notice. Sam however noticed everything wrong about Dean's life, from clothing and bed sheets to grades and eating habits. Dean hated it, Sam was always nitpicking him about doing better, eating better, being better. But the thing he hated most was the arguing, if Sam skipped a few meals, so what? But if Dean didn't have vegetables with dinner, or a hunt made it so he missed a whole night’s sleep you could bet Dolly Parton's wig that Sam would be screaming at their dad about how Dean deserved a better life.

Dean was like most kids, he did not care. They were cool people, they hunted monsters and fought evil. They were practically super heroes. So what if they lived out of motels, that just gave them a sympathy card. Dean had conned many old ladies out of cookies and other goodies on just that fact alone, throw in no mom and Dean could wrap the world around his pinky. And if something went wrong, Sam was there, always there.

When Sam deemed that Dean was properly equipped he placed a kiss atop the spiky blonde hair and earned a glare of death from the twelve year old. Sam just laughed and ruffled Dean's hair.

“Let's get you to school,” Sam stood up and pushed Dean towards the door.

Sam was dressed in a leather jacket, his hair cut short as a way of compromising with his father and a bronze amulet necklace hanging from his neck. He opened the apartment door and lead Dean out. Sam reached for Dean's hand and Dean jerked his hand away. He wasn't a baby.

Sam let out a sigh but didn't push it. They began the short walk to school.

Dean remembered the first years of life as being poor, food was crap and their family was as happy as could be, sort of. At least, back then Sam and Dad never fought. It had changed shortly after Dean's ninth birthday, the months prior had seen Sam probing at the missing qualities of their life, asking their dad questions and challenging many things. Then one day, Dean remembered meeting this nice man, a man who had given him candy and then asked him to help find his puppy. Dean had refused and the man suddenly wasn't so nice.

Sammy and his dad found him before anything bad could happen, but that event had changed things. It had happened on Dad's watch and Sam had since then never trusted his father with his baby brother. From then on Dean experienced the quality of his life change. Sam, at thirteen, became very strict. Dean couldn't go anywhere without him, gone were the candy bar dinners. Things like decent clothing, initially terrible home cooked meals which improved in quality, school supplies and little things Dean had noticed other kids had but he didn't, showed up. When Dean asked, Sam just smiled and told him that he wouldn't have to worry anymore, because big brother had this.

Sam disappeared a little more, meanwhile forcing Dean into after school programs while Sam was “busy”. Dad and Sam constantly argued, but hunting made John consistently absent, so Sam got his way. Now they had a working process. Sam handled everything Dean related, Dad let him so long as Sam made sure to train Dean and that Sam's own hunting skills were top notch. Sam kept that deal, he was an extremely skilled hunter, and though his grades in school were average he was absolutely brilliant.

Sam let Dean run up the steps to the middle school without saying goodbye. Dean didn't want to look lame by having his big brother see him off. Sam just stood there, a tall hunched scarecrow of a figure, watching as Dean ran off.

 

OoO

 

“I’m going to drop out.”

John Winchester looked up from where he was preparing salt loaded rounds. His eldest was cleaning the weapons, no longer the scrawny teenager John had known. Sam held himself like an adult, and though you could see that physically he wasn't all grown yet, his eyes seemed to say otherwise.

John couldn't help the grief in his heart. He knew Mary had wanted so much more for her kids, but she hadn't known about the evil lurking in the dark. Sam was smart, and the kid had loved school at one time. John remembered the eagerness with which his son had once come to him, a paper in hand with a bright colored letter A in the top right hand corner. Now though, Sam was a mystery.

“Okay,” John answered, knowing his response didn't matter in the least.

Sam was going to do what he was going to do. John had relinquished his influence in that respect under a figurative contract of a hands off policy in exchange for absolute obeisance when it came to hunting. Sam met his standards and went far beyond them in hunting and that was all John had a say in. That and Sam had such a smooth way of taking control of things. John remembered one November when his thirteen year old boy had eased away the bottle of alcohol from his hands and lead him to bed. Then the kid had gone to the motel table and started working on the bills. Since that moment, John had let Sam coordinate where they lived and what was bought for groceries. Oh, they argued all right, but it was a bartering argument, Sam pushing for such and such apartment because it was close to the school. When Sam had come up with money to help even the costs John had been terrified of where it came from. Ended up Sam just knew how to talk people into letting him work.

“Thank you, sir,” Sam's response was monotone and habitual.

John felt the sting of the words. Sam hadn't called him dad in a long time.

“Does, umm, Dean have any events coming up for school?” John tried offering out the broken, disfigured olive branch he had.

“He's got a baseball game this Saturday,” Sam replied.

John gave a nod.

“Alright, I'll try to make that,” John sort of promised.

“You do that,” Sam replied.

John felt frustration stir. It died though as he watched Sam put the last gun away and move over to couch where Dean was fast asleep. Sam only allowed the kid one hour of television and the kid lived for that hour. Sam lifted Dean up, carefully cradling him in his arms so as not to wake him, and carried Dean to the bedroom. It was a two bedroom apartment. Sam had insisted Dean get his own room and Sam took the couch, refusing to share with John.

When Sam came back out, John cleared his throat.

“You coddle him too much, he's never going to grow up.”

Sam glared.

“God forbid a kid actually act like a kid,” Sam bit out.

“Sam,” John said in warning.

John wasn't trying to start anything, he was just making a necessary comment.

“He's started training already, Dean knows basic stuff about all the weapons and I have him studying stuff about monsters, he's growing up fast enough,” Sam said in a final tone.

John let out a huff but he let the conversation drop.

 

OoO

 

Blood was pouring out, Sam felt his face tighten. Dean was unconscious, and though it made him feel like that meant Dean was dying, he knew it also meant Dean wasn’t conscious to experience the pain.

“Sam! Dean, is he-?” John came running over, his sawed off in hand.

Sam felt rage fill him. This was John’s fault. Despite the fact that it wasn’t, in the sense that no one could control a ghost, and most definitely his for deciding that Dean was ready to go on his first hunt --an event which had been continuously postponed by Sam for the last two years-- Sam hated him for what had just happened.

Thirteen was too young in Sam’s opinion. The large gash at the side of Dean’s head seemed to strengthen that opinion.

“Back the fuck off,” Sam said, tone low and murderous.

John did, Sam had never talked to him like that. 

Dean let out a little whimper and his green eyes fluttered open.

“Dean, Dean, buddy, you’re gonna be okay, I’m here,” Sam was carefully moving his little brother, fingers expertly probing at the wound.

“Sam-” John tried to speak again.

Sam’s head whipped around, and John was scared of his son for a moment. Hazel eyes, darkened to near black with rage, bored into him.

“He’s fine, alright, so back the fuck off,” there was a tremble of tears in Sam’s eyes, “it’s just a head wound, his pupils are responding.”

Sam turned back to Dean, cradling his brother close. After a minute, Sam lifted Dean up. The boy was slightly awake, eyes roving about and glazed over. They swept over John and then landed on Sam.

“S’m,” Dean mumbled out, green eyes locking onto his older brother’s.

“It’s okay Dean, I’m here, everything is gonna be okay,” Sam croaked out.

Sam was walking, Dean's body cradled against him, one arm awkwardly positioned to hold Dean's head up. Sam was all gentle grace, soft and careful.

“Hurts,” Dean said, eyes scrunching up in pain.

“I know, I know it does, it’ll be alright, you’ll be okay,” Sam held Dean closer.

They approached the Impala and John opened the door. Sam carefully set Dean down in the back seat and crawled in beside his brother. He cushioned Dean’s head on his lap, with Sam’s flannel shirt balled up and pressed against the side of Dean’s head.

“Sam-” John tried again, glancing in the rearview mirror at his two sons in the back seat.

“Don’t you fucking say anything,” Sam growled out.

Dean opened his eyes and Sam smiled down at his brother, gently brushing a hand through Dean’s hair.

“Mad?” Dean bleated, looking up at Sam with watery green eyes.

“Not at you buddy,” Sam reassured.

They got to the apartment and Sam moved up the stairs. It was silent between the two eldest Winchester’s. Once in the apartment, Sam brought Dean to his own bed and set him down. It wasn’t very many stitches, six total, but Sam did them neat and straight. Sam made sure to use good drugs, Dean was out. 

Sam settled Dean on the bed, watching him sleep. Sam thought about how close he’d come to losing the only thing in this world he lived for.

John was standing anxiously in the background, shifting from foot to foot, the shotgun still in his hand. When Sam withdrew finally, after sitting with Dean for over an hour, he looked to his father.

“How is he?” John’s voice was low and gruff.

Sam said nothing. Usually, Sam deferred to John on everything, he was quiet and respectful, he only ever got mouthy and rude when it concerned Dean.

“He’ll live,” Sam finally replied.

John anticipated a break down, anger and yelling. It didn’t come.

 

OoO

 

“What are you reading for? That's boring,” Dean drawled out, nose wrinkled in disgust.

Sam looked up from the battered copy of a collection of Dickinson poems. His eyes were heavy, not blocked off and tight with worry like they usually were. Dean frowned at his brother and sat the wrong way on the kitchen chair, arms folded on top of the backing with his chin atop them.

Sam looked like he wanted to say something, probably tell me how important reading is, Dean thought mulishly. 

Instead Sam let out a small sigh, his shoulders slumping. He turned his eyes back to the book. Dean felt a twinge of guilt. His big brother got this way once in a while, hazel eyes becoming watery and sad, like a hound dog’s. His posture screamed defeat and weariness. It scared Dean, but Sam always snapped out of it.

“What's it say anyways?” Dean asked, hoping to chase away the doleful look in his brother's eyes.

Sam looked up and Dean shrank under the heavy weight of his brother's ponderous gaze. Sam seemed to decide something.

“It’s called My Life Had Stood - A Loaded Gun,” Sam looked up from the book to Dean, weighing Dean's commitment to this.

Dean didn't really care about a stupid poem with a weird title, but he just wanted to see Sam look a little happier. So he gave a little shrug and smiled a little. Sam's eyes brightened up, as if he were preparing on sharing something.

“It’s, uh, not long but I like the last stanza the best,” Sam eyes grew distant, mind somewhere else.

Dean cleared his throat, willing to chase Sam down whatever convoluted rabbit hole this was.

“What's it say?”

Sam looked up, expression a tad surprised, as if he'd forgotten Dean was there.

“Oh, umm, Though I than He - may longer live. He longer must - than I. For I have but the power to kill Without the power to die.”

Sam was looking lost again, then he looked up at Dean, wide hazel eyes brimming with need. Dean was confused, unable to understand. Sam's hope died after a few moments.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, hoping he could be whatever it was that Sam needed.

“It's-uh, just a good poem,” Sam answered quietly.

It was silent for a few moments, a bad sort of silence.

“Did you finish your homework?” Sam queried.

Dean ducked his head, not wanting to do any such thing.

 

OoO

 

John knew his boy missed school, he knew it killed Sam to not be learning. He tried to make up for it, going out of his way to try to find classics in thrift stores or at garage sells. Sam didn't like cheap easy novels, he liked the kinds where he could delve in and live alongside complicated characters. John didn't get it, but it was one of the few luxuries he could afford his son that he knew Sam enjoyed. Get the kid a brand new gun, hand over the keys of the Impala, let him have his old leather jacket. None of that compared to the light in Sam's eyes when John handed him a Thomas Hardy he had had yet to read.

Dean was so easy, the boy loved everything hunting related. But whenever Dean needed something, he turned to Sam. Sam was the one who gave him baseball games and hanging out with friends. John was some distant figure, authoritative but nothing like a father. John just felt like he was losing them both though.

 

OoO

 

“SHUT UP!!!!”

Sam and John froze, the bitter argument between them stopping short at the cry of the youngest Winchester.

“Dean-” John started placatingly.

Dean shoved at John, “Shut Up!”

“You’re always fighting! Always! Sam’s just trying his best Dad, so stop telling him to be better!!! He’s already the best hunter there is!!!!” Dean yelled at John.

“Dean, c’mon-” Sam tried to hop in.

“NO!” Dean yelled, spinning around.

“You always bring me up! You’re always telling Dad what’s best for me, what I would want, what I need!!!! Maybe I need you to not fight about me! Maybe I just want the two people I love most to get along and not be fighting over me!!!”

The two older Winchesters looked ashamed, heart broken. Dean’s anger was replaced with heavy sobs.

“I just wa-want you two to not fight,” Dean said crying.

Sam and John stood there, frozen, watching the effects of their actions on the person they both loved and fought hard to protect.

“Dean, we-we won’t fight, not right now,” Sam promised, moving forward and placing a hesitant hand on Dean’s thin shoulder.

John moved forward as well.

“I’m sorry son,” John said.

The two hugged the youngest.

 

OoO

 

Dean woke up one morning to Sam’s face hanging over him. There was a bruise encapsulating the majority of the left side of his face. His knuckles were bloodied. He had a bag packed, and was carefully plying Dean with clothes.

“Get dressed, alright buddy?” Sam whispered, too soft and too quiet.

The fourteen year old Dean tensed up. Something was wrong.

“Sam, what’s going on?” Dean whispered back.

Sam just brushed a hand drunkenly through Dean’s hair.

“It’ll be okay, we’ll be okay,” Sam reassured.

Dean got up out of bed, feet meeting the cold wood floor, and saw blood staining the midsection of Sam’s shirt.

“Sammy?” Dean said, terrified for his brother.

Sam smiled lopsidedly, and pressed the bag into Dean’s arms.

“We’re gonna go, far away Dean, and it’ll be better, you’ll be safe, you’ll be safe,” Sam reached a hand out and pulled Dean into a too tight hug.

Dean squirmed, feeling the blood saturate his pajamas.

“Sam, something-something’s not right, you’re hurt,” Dean’s voice trembled.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’m fine, I have to be, because then you’ll be,” Sam rambled, pulling back to move towards the door.

Dean was scared, Sam was acting strange. Sam made it to the door when he stumbled, hands flying out to steady himself. Dean watched in horror as his big brother collapsed.

“Sam?” He cried out, young voice breaking.

He landed on his knees next to his brother. Sam was unconscious. His brother was huge, having reached six four a year ago and the time that had passed since then spent putting muscle on his bones. Sam was a scary eighteen year old. Dean at fourteen was still rather scrawny, his growth spurt not having yet hit and his limbs gangly and awkward. He pulled at his older brother, barely budging the giant. Dad was off in Minnesota, tracking some kind of monster and Dean knew his brother was supposed to be hunting something here, but whenever Dad left Sam wouldn’t let him hunt, insisting that the only thing he could do was homework, school events, or sports. 

“I’m scared Sam,” Dean confessed, hating to do so but willing to do anything to wake his brother.

Sam was always there.

He didn’t wake up this time though. With shaking hands, Dean pulled his brother’s shirt up to reveal a nasty gash cutting across his navel, as if something had attempted to gut him. Dean tried to remember what his brother had told him, the careful and boring explanations, the orange peels he’d had him draw needles through. It was all so distant and fake. 

Dean found regular dental floss, a sewing needle, his fingers bled trying to push it through flesh and he threw up a couple times. Maybe not so fake. Sam didn’t come to during this entire time. Dean didn’t even attempt getting him on the bed, instead he rolled him onto a sheet and set a blanket over him and a pillow under his head.

Dean spent the night curled up next to Sam, praying that his big brother was going to be okay. When Sam woke in the morning he was delirious with fever; crying, sobbing, something Dean had never seen Sam do.

“I’m sorry Dean, I’m sorry, I’ll fix this, I’ll make it better,” Sam cried.

Dean tried to pretend that he didn’t understand what that meant anymore and instead forgave, brushing his brother’s burning brow with a cold cloth. When Sam’s fever finally broke, Dean, exhausted and aching, curled up at his brother’s side, wielding Sam's long arm and hugging it like a safety blanket. He sobbed himself, scared for his brother.

When Sam was mentally aware he called dad. They didn’t talk about what had happened and Sam pretended like Dean didn’t crawl into his bed that night or clutch at his brother while begging Sam to not leave him.

 

OoO

 

A month later, Sam handed Dean a bag again, this time coherent.

“We’re leaving,” Sam’s voice was final.

Dean climbed into the car, sort of realizing what this was when Sam smashed the phones with the heel of his boot.

“Sam?” Dean hesitantly asked.

Sam looked over at him, the towering hunter he was. He’d just turned nineteen, Dean still fourteen. 

“Yeah, Dean?” Sam said, eyes light and a smile on his face as he looked at his brother.

“We going to meet up with dad?” Dean asked.

Sam’s eyes darkened, but they lightened a second later.

“No, we aren’t going to see Dad for a while,” Sam said.

When he said ‘a while’, Dean got scared. Sam said Dad would be back in a little bit when their dad disappeared for months. ‘A while’ could mean years. Dean should’ve seen this coming. Sam had always hinted at it, argued with their dad for a better life for Dean. Whenever they fought, it was over Dean and Dean hated it. 

“Where are we going?” Dean asked.

“Look, Dean, I know that maybe this seems weird, and-but- I’m doing right, by you-us I mean,” Sam tried to explain.

“By leaving Dad?” Dean asked.

Sam flinched and his grip on the steering wheel tightened, but he did not slow down.

“By leaving hunting. Dad can choose to do that, it’s his choice, but we don’t have to, I’m going to give you a choice,” Sam said.

Dean shrugged, feeling uncomfortable with this. He didn’t want to leave Dad, but to be honest, Dad wasn’t really around. He didn’t love moving around, that had grown old when he’d had to upend his life at school right before the last baseball game. Sam had driven him over two hundred miles back to the town to make that game. Dean didn’t argue with Sam, didn’t feel like he could. Sam was almost always right.

“Okay,” Dean said.

 

OoO

 

Dean loved California, they drove for quite a while until Sam parked them outside an auto garage in Oxnard. Sam spoke with one of the guys in there, a heavily scarred Puerto Rican man. He thumped Sam on the back and smiled a good kind of smile. Dean decided he liked the guy. 

They then drove to a run down apartment complex, the same man, showed them to one of the apartments.

“Hey kiddo,” he greeted Dean.

“Hey old man,” Dean shot back.

Sam gently smacked Dean in the back of the head.

“Be polite. Dean, this is Marcos.”

Dean rubbed the back of his head, scowling as the man let out a laugh.

“You’re a good man Sam, you saved my son, if there is anything you need, let me know,” Marcos opened the apartment door and showed the two in, “Maritza did the decorating, you’re probably not Catholic, but she believes every house should be like that of the house of God.”

Marcos let out a laugh. It was a small apartment, furnished with old but clean thrift store items. A large cross was hung on the door.

“No-that’s-uh-it’s nice,” Sam said, beaming as he looked around.

“We stocked the fridge, and you two can take a few days to settle before you need to worry about heading to the shop. You definitely have a job there,” Marcos leaned up against the bar that was a part of the cut wall showing into the kitchen.

“Thanks, I mean, this is-” Sam was speechless.

“Like I said, you saved my son,” Marcos cleared his throat, “Maritza left some posole in the fridge, along with a casserole. First month of rent is paid, so, take as much time as you need.”

Marcos left after that.

 

OoO

 

Dean tried, he really did, but he missed dad and being a teenager was kicking in. He started arguing with Sam, started the arguments all the time, blaming Sam for something small and building from there.

“I don't wanna go,” Dean said, glaring at his brother.

He watched Sam grip the back of the kitchen chair and squeeze.

“Dean, I thought you liked car shows, I-I spent money on this, I can't get that money back,” Sam's voice was pleading.

“You always think you know what I want,” Dean bit out.

Sam’s jaw clenched.

“Dean, what's wrong?”

Sam was trying, Dean knew that, but he felt itchy and unsettled. Aggravation was building in him.

“I-I don't know’” Dean said honestly, “just, this, us living here, why did we have to leave dad?”

Dean saw the pain that flashed through Sam's eyes. 

“Dean-” Sam started in warning, voice no longer as conciliatory.

“No! We left dad, for what? For this? Me going to school and pretending like we are normal?! We're not!! You're not!! And I'm sick of pretending!”

It was silent. Sam looked pissed.

“You want to be with dad?” Sam asked, voice shaking with the effort to be level and calm.

“Yes,” Dean bit out.

Sam's eyes showed the break, it was horribly painful one moment, gone the next as Sam lowered his gaze.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

He nodded his head, hazel eyes trailed on the floor.

“Alright.”

Turning around, Sam walked towards his room. Dean was speechless. He'd expected anger and fighting. This acceptance felt wrong.

The next morning they packed up, Sam loaded them into the Impala, stopped by the garage to say goodbye, and then turned the car towards Nevada where their dad was hunting a wyvern.

Dad was angry, mouth in a straight line pressed so tight his lips were bloodless. Sam didn't meet his eyes. Dean threw himself forward, tears in his eyes and hugged his dad tight.

“Hey son,” Dad said.

Dean felt like he'd come home. Sam looked completely defeated. Dad didn't greet Sam with anything other than that cold look.

Things changed, Sam was always quiet, the arguments stopped and Dad took over managing Dean. After a few months of grueling training and a mentally absent Sam, Dean wondered if this was any better.


	2. The Beginnings are Always in the Middle of the Story

When Dean turned eighteen he left, a year and a half after returning from his first escape with Sam, and took a bus to Los Angeles. He didn't answer any of his missed calls. He'd had enough of being babied by Sam, of being ordered around by his dad on a tight leash. So he lived the high life. He worked out of a garage his first two years, then he decided that he wanted something more, started taking a couple of classes at the community college. There he'd met Carmen.

Carmen was perfect, smart as a whip, sassy, down right gorgeous and on the fast track through the nursing program. Her mom's amazing tamales and tres leches didn't hurt either. They fell in love and at twenty two Dean proposed.

A couple days before Carmen's birthday, Sam showed up.

Sam looked old, news scars adorning him, one a more conspicuous pale red line that trailed up his neck and looked like someone had tried to cut his throat. Somehow it seemed like he'd gotten bigger and taller, figure dark and filled out. Dean stared, shocked, forgetting that he was standing at his apartment door, Carmen back in the kitchen waiting for him to come finish making the chocolate and cinnamon waffles he'd promised her.

Sam smiled, eyes trailing over Dean, and, though he looked sad, he also looked pleased, as if glad Dean was happy and healthy.

“Sam?” Dean breathed, trying to regain his breath.

“Sorry for showing up unannounced,” Sam said, sounding the same as he had throughout their childhood, a low, soft tone, that always was chagrined, the only thing that had changed was that it was deeper and even softer.

“You look good,” Sam said, that crooked smile wholesome as Dean rarely remembered it being.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asked, starting to freak out at this sudden re-emergence of his past.

Sam's happiness immediately faded and the smile splintered. Dean watched the shutters fall on Sam's face and regretted his callous words, that shaggy head dipping and eyes turning to the stone porcupine which Dean hid the apartment key under.

“I'm in town for a hunt, I just wanted to warn you, make sure you stay safe,” Sam replied, voice nearly closed off.

Carmen called out and Dean grimaced. Sam blinked in surprise and the smile came back, he was happy for Dean.

“It's a demon, I just thought you should know, they can get pretty nasty, figured you'd keep an eye out and could take all the necessary precautions.”

Dean forgot for a moment about his panic to keep his new happy life separated from his old one and took in the words Sam was saying.

“You and Dad are going after it alone?” Dean asked in disbelief, a niggle of worry worming its way through his chest.

Sam's eyes, at the word 'Dad’, completely shut off.

“Just me,” Sam replied.

Dean's heart, for the first time in four years, filled with anxiety in behalf of his brother.

“What? Just you? After a demon?!” Dean was incredulous.

Sam gave a wry nod, glancing at the entryway as Carmen's voice sounded out again. The scrape of a chair could be heard. Dean drew the door almost all the way shut, body squeezed between the opening. A rueful little smile passed over Sam's face and he ducked his head.

“I gotta go,” Sam said, politely giving his brother an out.

Dean felt guilty, then relieved, then guilty for feeling relieved.

“Take care of yourself,” Sam said before turning on his heel and taking quick swift strides to the car at the curb. 

Sam was in the Impala and driving away by the time Carmen reached the door. Dean was staring in the direction that the car had disappeared from feeling like he'd made a mistake.

“Who was that?” Carmen asked, looking between Dean and the empty lawn.

Dean shook his head, tearing his eyes away from where he'd watched Sam disappear.

“No one, just someone asking about a poll,” he lied.

Carmen smiled, tugged at his arm and reminded him of his promise to feed her. Dean shut the door.

 

 

 

Dean couldn't forget Sam's sudden appearance and a day later he was digging through shit he'd kept from when he'd first left. Sam had somehow known he was planning on running off, slipping a care package into his duffel with money, a gun, a note, and -what Dean was currently looking for- a phone with Sam's number along with a slew of other people's numbers who could help Dean out.

Dean found the phone, an old clunky Nokia with a now faded and wrinkled sticky note on the top. Dean felt emotion swell inside himself and immediately set the note to the side, unable to re-read Sam's forgiving, hopeful, and loving words.

Along with it was a charger. Dean plugged it in, hoping against hope that it would still work. It did. He quickly retrieved the number.

Dialing it into his Blackberry he wondered if Sam even still used the number. Several rings later Dean heard Sam's voice over the phone.

“Hey, it's Dean,” it was lame, but he wasn't sure what else to say.

The other end was silent for a few long seconds.

“Did something happen?”

Dean nearly rolled his eyes, Sam was always worried.

“No, no, I'm fine, I just wanted to see how it was going,” Dean dithered, struggling to come up with a way of voicing his concerns.

“Don't worry, the demon won't be bothering you,” Sam assured.

Dean frowned, guilty once again. Sam thought he was worried about himself. Dean sat heavily on the apartment stairs and rubbed a hand over his face.

“That's not- I mean,” Dean let out a sigh, “You shouldn't be hunting a demon alone.”

It was silent again.

“I know how to handle myself, Dean,” Sam replied, a tinge of amusement in his tone.

Dean shook his head before realizing Sam couldn't see him.

“Well, it's a demon and I call bullshit, you're getting my help on this one,” Dean impulsively said. 

It was silent again.

“Maybe we should talk first,” Sam finally spoke, voice taut with emotion and straining, as Dean so remembered, to sound calm and collected.

“Yeah, there's a good breakfast place near me, Darcy's, we could meet there for lunch,” Dean quickly offered, a sudden hungry desire to see his brother again overcoming him.

“Okay,” Sam's voice was soft and composed again, “twelve then.”

Dean grinned, elation building in him.

“See you soon,” he said, hanging up.

Shaking his head, Dean stood, he felt guilty, no intention of telling Carmen about Sam, or, for that matter, Sam about Carmen. It felt like a dirty secret, Sam the skeleton in his closet. Yet he also felt excited, he hadn't seen his brother in years.

 

 

 

Dean was nervous and uncomfortable. He didn’t go to Darcy’s that often, but there were a few people who knew him now. He’d hate them to see Sam and ask him questions, or worse, ask Carmen questions.

Dean wasn’t ashamed, he swore to himself he wasn’t, and yet. Dean shook his head, pushing through the glass door and hearing the answering tintinnabulation of the bell along with the soft murmur of conversation. Darcy’s was moderately busy and Dean, peering around, soon saw his brother already seated.

A grin spread on his face and he sauntered over.

“Hey bitch,” Dean greeted.

Sam looked up in surprise, brow furled before his face relaxed into a fond smile of exasperation.

“Dean,” he said, standing up.

Dean surprised himself by stepping forward and hugging Sam. Sam was stiff, before wrapping Dean in a bear hug which brought back memories, times when Sam had hugged him before school, when he had let Dean cry, drawing him into a hug as Dean worried over Dad coming back. Dean pulled back, wrenching out of Sam’s grasp. Sam drew away and Dean quickly took a seat, not meeting his eyes.

“So, a demon huh?” Dean said, shaking his emotion off.

Sam’s face was his inscrutable hound dog look, distantly sad and always attentive.

“Yeah,” Sam said with a nod.

“When did you and Dad start going after demons?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It came up,” Sam replied, accepting the cup of coffee set in front of him by a waitress with a polite thanks.

Dean accepted his own cup and refused to order anything else.

“You’ve been good,” Sam said eyeing Dean once again with that up and down mother hen look that was oh so familiar.

Dean felt a self-conscious happiness wash over him, because, yeah, he was good. He gave an honest nod and watched Sam’s smile broaden just a smidge.

“I’m glad,” Sam said, rolling his shoulders and turning his attention to the egg white omelette and coffee.

“You look good too,” Dean blurted out, a bit forced and not necessarily true.

Sam didn’t look bad per se, but his face was scruffy, his eyes distant, hair a little longer and falling like an unkempt shag over him. Sam looked like a large brutish figure, rather intimidating if Dean didn’t know that Sam was the biggest softie he’d ever met. The scars didn’t help. Dean felt a twinge of guilt.

Sam’s head came up, amusement in his glance before turning to the food. Dean flushed at being caught in his lie.

“Where’s dad?” 

Sam froze before continuing eating.

“He’s in Akron, hunting a banshee with Caleb.”

It was quiet and Dean felt the tension.

“What happened?” Dean said, softer, as if he could coax out the truth and fix it.

Sam was quiet for a while, but he wasn’t eating anymore and Dean knew that his brother was summoning words. It was weird, how quickly and easily he was falling back into knowing Sam. His brother hadn’t changed that much, but Dean had also made sure not to forget.

“‘Bout a couple months after you left we decided we could do more apart.”

Dean blinked, watched Sam finish the omelette in a few bites and knew his brother wasn’t going to be more forthcoming.

Sam shoved the plate to the side, folded his hands in front of him on the table and looked up at Dean with that furrowed brow and those solemn, masked eyes.

“What are you doing here Dean?”

Dean knew Sam wasn’t asking about him being in Saticoy, California, it was about him, in this restaurant, talking to Sam. 

“I’m making sure you don’t get your ass handed to you by a demon. You need backup.”

Sam pursed his lips and Dean knew his brother was working up a response.

“Dean, I can handle myself just fine,” Sam reassured.

Dean immediately got angry.

“This is your life Sam, you’re not proving anything to me and definitely not to Dad.”

Sam’s eyes flashed with anger. That had been a thing, when they were kids, Sam proving himself to Dad. John had gravitated towards Dean; Dean’s bright enthusiasm, boyish interest in hunting and his lack of arguing had helped them to have a better, if rather superficial, relationship. Sam’s obstinate will, his dogged attempts to seize control from their father had lead to a less than ideal relationship. It wasn’t a kind thing for Dean to say.

“I’m a hunter Dean, this is what I do for a living, have for the last eighteen years, I’m doing my job. And you think I’ll be safer having to take down a demon and watch you? You haven’t hunted for four years and you were eighteen the last time you did,” Sam snapped, a brief surge of anger biting its way through his calm.

Dean bristled, but he knew Sam was right.

“Besides,” Sam said softer, calming, reassuring, “I’ve done this before.”

It was silent again. Sam stood, set more than enough bills on the table.

“You call me if you need me, if-” Sam hesitated, face convulsing with pain before he ducked his head and the shaggy mane hid his features, “Know you can call me.”

Sam left and Dean again felt like he’d made another mistake.

 

 

Dean was lying in bed with Carmen, she’d fallen asleep in the middle of them talking about the wedding preparations, the late hours pulling her under. Dean would’ve joined her, but his mind was occupied and all he could think about was Sam. He felt guilty and conflicted. It wasn’t like he didn’t want Sam to be a part of his life, but his brother was a hunter. The life he’d built here was safe and happy and everything he’d dreamed of and he just couldn’t see how Sam could possibly fit into it all.

He was being unfair, he knew it, because if he thought long enough he could imagine Carmen looking in surprise at Sam before quickly figuring out he was just a big softie. She’d punch Dean in the arm for not telling her and she’d smile a big smile and wrap Sam in one of her perfect, wonderful, strong hugs and his big brother would be stunned. They’d whisk Sam off to her parents and there Sam, awkward and silent, would be welcomed into the family, just as Dean had been.

These thoughts were swallowed by a wrathful jealousy and worrying that Sam would somehow taint it, bring the monsters of Dean’s childhood to the happiness he’d found and allow them to poison it.

There was a knock on the door. It was faint and Dean barely heard it. At first he thought he’d imagined it. It came again, louder, more demanding. Carmen didn’t stir. Dean eased out of bed, stomach clenched. 

Creeping down the stairs, he held their iron poker in his hand, having grabbed it from their seldom used fireplace. Inching towards the door he felt his heart pounding in his chest, memories flashing through his mind of monsters in the dark. The knock came again, loud but sluggish. Dean unlocked the door and threw it open. 

It was Sam, blood bathing his face and eyes bright and wild.

“Christo,” Sam huffed out raggedly.

Dean was stunned, could say nothing nor do anything. Sam surged past him, eyes roving around the room in search of danger, once he seemed happy with that, he threw the door shut and began scratching marks into the wood paneling of the entryway.

“Sam, what the hell?” Dean breathed, the iron poker lowering.

“Demons, they’re here for you,” was Sam’s meager response.

Dean felt fear pool in him. You didn’t mess with demons, they were the worst of the worst when it came to the supernatural. They’d only ever really encountered one when he was a kid, there had been a trail of bodies, both civilian and hunter alike, their dad had packed them out of there. When he’d come back, he’d looked like shit and his eyes had been haunted.

Sam rushed to the closest window and began inscribing symbols into the wood. When he finished, he cut his hand and used his blood to start painting symbols.

“Sam, what do you mean? Demons? Why?” Dean was frantic, freaked about where Sam seemed to already be bleeding on his head and on his side, freaked about demons coming after him and- shit.

“Carmen, fuck,” Dean started to rush up the stairs.

He heard Sam bellow his name, but it didn’t matter. He was throwing the door open. Carmen was still asleep, but she jack-rabbited up at the slam of the door as Dean opened it.

“Dean?!”

Dean felt relief pour through him, Carmen was okay, she was fine. Sam appeared seconds later.

“Dean?! Who’s that?!” Carmen was scared.

Dean moved forward, Sam however gripped his arm, squeezed in warning and let go. Dean ignored it, not understanding his brother. He got half on the bed, grabbing Carmen’s hand.

“Carmen, this is my brother Sam, there’s something bad after us and he’s going to help us,” Dean tried to explain short and simple, but the supernatural had never been either of those things.

“Wha- brother? You have a brother? What do you mean ‘something’? Don’t you mean someone?” Carmen was peering at Dean, begging him to explain.

Dean felt his heart tear, because he wanted to explain, he did, but he couldn’t, at least not right now.

“Please just trust me Carmen, I’ll explain everything later, I promise.”

Carmen gave a nod, a look of trust in her eyes. Dean smiled, pecking her on the lips.

“Everything’s going to be just fine,” he promised.

Turning, he saw Sam standing in the doorway, watching with closed off eyes. 

“Let’s go babe,” Dean said, confused and a little worried about the strange look in Sam’s eyes.

Carmen rose from the bed, thankfully fully outfitted in unrevealing pajamas. Dean was holding her hand, the band of her engagement ring pressing reassuringly into his fingers. Sam had turned and was making his way down the stairs, steps much too thought out for him to be completely fine. Dean thought of the blood and injuries and was worried.

They made it to the landing and Sam gestured for them to proceed. Dean glanced curiously at his brother, but the adrenaline was pumping and his mind wasn’t taking the time to think. Standing in the entryway, Sam turned to him, all traces of his soft, seemingly innocent smile gone and face a hard, stoic cast.

“Look, we need to get out of here, Dean, I need you to get a flashlight, and Carmen, you should put a coat on, we have five minutes.”

Dean nodded, implicitly trusting his brother. Carmen glanced at Dean before also nodding. Dean rushed to the kitchen, giving Carmen’s hand one last squeeze.

Fumbling in the drawers, he finally found their emergency flashlight and grabbed it with a burst of triumph. Stepping back into the front room he was surprised to see Sam with an uncapped water bottle and a book in his hand. Carmen was standing in the center of the front room and she did not look like Carmen, there wasn’t anything obvious, just something about the way she held herself.

Dean started to rush forward to his fiance, but Sam stopped him with a firm hand. Dean turned furious eyes on his brother, ready to punch him out in order to get to the woman he loved. Sam’s eyes wouldn’t meet his.

“Christo,” Sam said softly.

Dean blinked in surprise before looking over to Carmen. Her eyes flickered black.

“Oh, Sammy, you little shit, had to ruin everything, didn’t you?”

Carmen didn’t sound like Carmen. Dean felt all the air leave his lungs and his legs felt weak.

“Carmen,” he whispered.

“Dean,” Sam warned, “Don’t.”

Tears were coming though; anger, desperation. Dean had never been one to hold back his emotions, they came fast, sharp and short lived.

“Oh, Sam, let him have his fun, baby brother is worried about his little wifey to be,” the demon taunted.

Dean surged forward, anger explosive.

“You sonuvabitch!”

Sam had his arms around him, holding him back. Dean stopped struggling as he heard his name softly repeated. 

“Let me take care of this,” Sam said, pushing Dean back. 

Dean nodded numbly. Sam started chanting in Latin, Carmen --or the demon hijacking Carmen's body-- agitatedly paced the carpet. For some reason she never stepped off of it, as though confined.

Sam's voice rose and wind started to whip, the demon screamed.

“You'll rot in hell with us, Samuel Winchester!!!” She shrieked.

Dean recoiled, ignoring the tears on his face, as Carmen's voice was so cruelly twisted. Sam kept going, unaffected by the demon.

“We're going to burn baby brother,” she hissed. “Peel daddy's skin and feed him to you!”

Sam's voice rose again and the wind increased intensity. Black started to wisp from Carmen's mouth and nostrils, a disgusting smoky mass of writhing evil.

“He'll be coming for you Sammy, soon!”

The demon screamed then, the black completely extracted before disappearing. The wind died immediately, the room deathly silent as Carmen came back to herself, swaying where she stood in a daze. An odd moment of immobility passed and then Carmen started to tilt, body falling.

Dean sprang forward, catching Carmen in his arms. He heard Sam moving in the background but ignored it.

“Carmen, babe?” Dean whispered.

Carmen's eyes fluttered open and she flinched, jerking away from Dean. Dean tried to pull her close, to comfort. Carmen however was pushing his hands away, breathing tight and harsh.

“Carmen, babe, it's me, Dean.”

Carmen shook her head.

“Let go, get off,” she hissed.

Dean let go, dazed and confused. Carmen rolled away, rising to her knees. She wiped at her eyes, a harsh sob escaping. Dean put a hand out, but it faltered as Carmen leaned away.

“I want to go home,” Carmen choked out.

“That's where we are, babe,” Dean said softly.

Carmen's ferocious brown eyes landed on Dean.

“Home, my parents, I want to go now.”

Dean could only nod numbly. As Carmen stood, all his efforts to help her were thrown off. Sam was standing at the doorway, head bowed and door held open.

They made their way out, all climbing into the Impala and by passing Dean and Carmen's Honda Civic.

The drive was awful. When they arrived, Carmen refused to let Dean walk her to the door. The two Winchesters watched her parents open the door and welcome her in.

It was silent.

“I'm sorry, Dean,” Sam said softly.

Dean shrugged. He felt exhausted, hollow and numb. 

Sam drove them to a motel. Dean sat there as Sam turned the car off and went to the trunk. Everything was a fuzzy background to the most recent events. Sam tapped on Dean's window before opening the door.

“Let's go Dean,” Sam prompted gently.

Dean got out of the car and followed his wavering brother into the room. Sam sat the duffel and bag he had down, rummaging in the duffel for a smaller bag before walking to the bathroom. Dean sat on the bed, brain unresponsive.

It wasn't until he realized that Sam had been in a long while that his brain started to catch up. Sam had been hurt. Standing, Dean went over to the bathroom and opened the door, foregoing all basic manners as he'd always done when it came to Sam.

Sam was sitting on the toilet seat, attempting to stitch up a knife wound in his side. The cramped space was not conducive to the activity and Sam's hands were shaking as he turned to see who'd stepped in.

Dean knew his brother had holed up in here to give him some privacy, to give him space. Stupid, self-sacrificing big brothers.

“Dean,” Sam said in surprise.

Dean didn't say anything in response other than to glare in remonstration at Sam before grabbing the med kit from off the counter along with a towel.

Sam peered at Dean in confusion and Dean shook his head in faux annoyance at Sam.

“I'm going to stitch you up, on the bed, where you have somewhere to put your ginormous feet.”

Sam smiled crookedly and Dean felt good about seeing his brother smile and being the cause. Sam stood before wavering on his feet. Dean steadied him. 

They made their way to the bed and Sam practically collapsed on it. Dean started eyeing the injury, noting that it was a good ten inches but not deep enough to do any damage to the muscle. It still had to hurt though. He also had a small wound at the beginning of his hairline. It wasn’t bad, didn’t need to be stitched, but it had bled like a bitch and made Sam look all the more haggard.

“You taken any meds?” Dean asked, peering with a worried sternness at his elder brother.

He could see that Sam was considering lying, before finally giving a short shake of his head. Dean snorted in disbelief, shaking his head.

“You’re a friggin’ idiot, you know that?” 

Sam’s smile just quirked up a little more and the tension eased from his eyes and shoulders. Dean just kept shaking his head, searching the med kit till he came up with some generic brand acetaminophen.

“You have anything stronger?”

Sam shook his head. “It’s expensive.”

Dean felt indignant, and sick. Pain meds were another staple of the hunting world that you didn’t screw with. Morphine could save a life. Sam was walking around hunting demons by himself with his strongest pain medication a weak off brand you could pick up at any CVS or Walgreens.

“Well, I don’t care, I’m buying you some good stuff, or convincing Carmen to sneak some out of the hospital.”

Sam blinked, before his smile grew even more. Dean had learned how to mother hen from the best.

Dean watched Sam pop several pills before he started on the stitches. Sam flinched and was tense, but there were no cries of pain for what was basically an unmedicated procedure. Dean had also been surprised to find no alcohol on his brother, another hunting staple. Their dad had always had at least a bottle of cheap whiskey on hand.

As Dean worked, he started to replay the evening in his mind. 

“How, uh, how’d you trap the demon on the carpet anyhow?” Dean asked, he’d never seen anything like that.

Sam hunched, eyes suddenly staring at the carpet. Dean grew wary, because Sam looked guilty.

“Devil’s trap,” Sam said.

Dean processed that.

“On the rug, you didn’t have time…” Dean trailed off.

Sam kept his eyes on the floor.

“It was to keep you safe.”

Dean said nothing, only gave a tight nod. Sam had broke into his house, albeit out of an overly protective nature, but still, it made Dean feel violated. Sam could’ve just asked. Or could he have? Dean hadn’t exactly been welcoming and Sam was smart, though his school record said otherwise, and he had most likely connected the dots. So Sam had respected his brother’s desire to be left alone while also trying his best to protect him. Dean felt like an ass.

Sam said nothing but Dean could feel his brother’s new lack of surety about the situation.

“‘M not mad,” Dean mumbled, feeling more sad and guilty than anything, like the little brother who’d broken his big brother’s toy.

“‘S’okay,” Sam replied, reassuring big brother to the end.

When they finished, Dean sat on the bed farthest from the door, Sam having automatically chosen his own bed. Sam looked ready to collapse, but he stood, stepping toward the bathroom. He paused at Dean’s bed, setting a firm, comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean looked up and met Sam’s gaze. Sam was smiling, a strong familiar expression of warmth, support and love. Dean felt memories come to mind and weakly smiled back, stomach un-clenching and feeling a sense of safety blanket him. 

Then Sam staggered to the bathroom to clean up. Thirty seconds passed by before Dean’s cell phone rang.

He saw the caller ID and in an instant had his phone to his ear. It was Carmen.

“Carmen?” Dean hoped he didn’t sound too desperate, or that he sounded desperate enough.

“Dean,” Carmen’s voice was subdued, but she was back in control and a far cry from how shaken she’d been earlier.

Dean said nothing, not sure what he could say.

“We-we need to talk. I have questions, and I need you to answer them. Your,” she hesitated. “Your brother too.”

“No, yeah, of course, of course,” Dean hastily replied, clutching the phone to him like it held the key to keeping Carmen.

“Thanks, too, for saving me, I-I,” Carmen’s voice started to break and Dean knew from experience that she was close to tears.

“It’s okay babe, it’s okay, I understand,” Dean cooed.

There was a soft sob and then relative silence as Carmen pulled herself together.

“We meet, tomorrow, my parents’ house, whenever you want to come by, we’ll talk there,” Carmen finally said.

Dean was nodding his head. “Yeah, yeah, absolutely.”

“Okay,” Carmen repeated.

There was a beat of silence.

“I love you,” Dean said, ever sincere.

The response was the sound of Carmen hanging up.

Dean sighed, shoulders slumping. Turning over he climbed under the covers, only taking time to kick off his shoes. Several minutes passed and Sam came out of the bathroom. Dean listened to his brother settle on the bed, he didn’t, however, get under the covers. A few minutes passed, Dean pretending to sleep. Sam finally stood, coming over to Dean’s bed. A hand lightly brushed Dean’s head.

Sam said nothing.

Then Sam stepped back over to his bed and got in, finally falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those worried, Carmen will not be featured as a main character. This is primarily about the brothers.


End file.
